


love me and mend

by majorshipper



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Romance, fluff month, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2018-01-02 19:19:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majorshipper/pseuds/majorshipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>sigh no more, no more</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

At first, it’s not bothersome at all. Pleasant, in fact, to have Swan pressed up against him, her arms wrapped firmly around his chest. It makes his body thrum happily, because she climbed atop the horse behind him with no question, not even a second of hesitation when he offered his hook to help her climb up.

It’s only when she moves that it becomes more. Her body wriggles, pressing harder against his back, and her hands shift, coming further up his chest, curling in the leather of his vest. He tries to pay no mind to it when her fingers brush the skin of his chest, hopes she’s just finding a better grip, assumes she’s never been on the back of a horse before.

They’re not galloping, there’s no reason for her to cling to him so tightly. In fact, if they were galloping, her grip on his clothing would probably tear them open, and wouldn’t that be a sight?

He tries not to imagine her ripping off his clothing.

For several minutes, she stays still, and he can feel her breathing, soft and steady, against his back. Her face is pressed against his shoulder, head ducked to the side.

She’s been silent the entire time; he’s sure that she is still brooding, that the argument that sent her on this little walk hours ago is still stirring in her head. When Charming had asked him to go after her because it was getting dark, he hadn’t hesitated, taking the first horse he could find and heading after her.

Now, though, he wishes he could make the moment stretch out, and so he doesn’t push the beast like he had to reach her. It’s not often that she spends time with him, too consumed with the new reality of her situation, but every second counts, every moment with her a chance to see that startlingly beautiful smile. He likes to think he is rather good at bringing it out. Even silent like this, he enjoys her company. Enjoys the (mostly) innocent way they’re pressed together.

Her fingers move, curling and uncurling, brushing against his chest, and he forces down the shudder it causes.

“How far did I get?” she asks softly, voice muffled by his back.

He shrugs. “I was not keeping track; several leagues, I’m sure.” 

She sighs quietly, and falls silent.

He wants to say something, to start a conversation with her, anything, but he can’t think of what to say. She’s upset, on edge, and has been for weeks. The move back to the Enchanted Forest has been taxing for her, thrusting her so completely out of her element.

“How long do you think it will take to get back?”

Her nose brushes against the back of his neck as she lifts her head, and her breath is so close to her ear. He prays she doesn’t notice the way he stiffens slightly under her.

“Would you like us to go faster?” For once, he avoids a suggestive tone, knowing that’s not what she needs right now.

She laughs, though, small and sweet. “In your dreams,” she says, and it makes him smile.

“Always,” he quips in return, and feels the huff of amusement against his back.

She moves her hands lower, towards his stomach, and clasps them together over his belt. “I think I wouldn’t mind going a little faster,” she murmurs, and releases the reins long enough to cover her hands with his own, squeezing gently.

“Of course,” he says, and nudges the horse into a faster pace. Her arms tighten, but he doesn’t mind. She could crush the air right out of him and it would only make him happy, the incredible sap that he is.

“I think I hear my bed calling,” she jokes, and he chuckles.

“I’m sure that’s your father.”

She falls silent at the mention of the prince. After all, her parents are the reason she “needed some air”. He hadn’t been trying to listen, but he had caught words, snippets of the disagreement. Her parents are doing their best to help her adjust, but it’s difficult. Nobody understands her, understands the incredible shift her life has gone through. Not even he can pretend to, though he wishes he could, if only to be there for her.

A shiver runs through her body and into his, and he frowns.

“Are you cold?”

She shakes her head, and shivers again.

“You could have my coat, love,” he murmurs, turning his head to the side, hoping to catch her eyes. But she is pressed hard against his back, watching the trees as they pass them.

“I’ll be fine. You need it, anyways, all that exposed skin.” Her hand slips up his stomach and towards his chest, fingers tickling at his bare skin.

“Oh, you know you love it, darling.”

She chuckles and shakes her head.

“You’re insufferable.”

“Proudly,” he replies, and puffs out his chest. She dissolves in a fit of giggles, and her hands drift down to his sides, the movement pushing back his coat so her hands rest on his vest.

Emma Swan’s fingers are digging into his hips.

He blinks and tries to surreptitiously take a deep, calming breath. They’re not that much further from the castle. He just has to hold on and _ignore_ what she is doing to him. Easier said than done, but he’s never stepped away from a challenge before.

If he had, he wouldn’t be in this very situation, a warm princess wrapped around him, teasing and flirting with _him_.

She hasn’t made her choice yet, hasn’t come to him, but he’s seen the way she interacts with Neal, the stiffness in her back, the way she touches Henry like she’s afraid to lose him to his own father. He doesn’t take delight in another man’s loss, but he knows he merely has to wait. And for her, he could wait an eternity.

He exhales, and she burrows into his back, makes a small contented sound and her hands slip down his sides, resting barely above his thighs.

His breath catches in his lungs, and he coughs, hard. She startles, but her hands stay firmly where they are.

“You okay?” she asks, and it’s on the tip of his tongue to ask what _exactly_ she’s doing.

“I’m fine,” he says instead. “Just something in my throat.”

She would never be doing what he thinks, would never be so blatant. Certainly not with him, not like this. He reasons that she probably hasn’t ridden on horseback very much, and certainly not behind anyone else. She just doesn’t know what she’s doing.

They’re getting close to the castle, only a few minutes away now. Darkness is settling over them, but there are plenty of fires burning in the palace, and they’re save this close to civilization. Emma may have been angry, but she wasn’t foolish when she set out on her walk; she’d skirted the woods and stuck close to the sea, knowing that the ogres wouldn’t likely be there.

It had still been dangerous, but she had her gun and her magic, and as much as he wished to inform her of just _how_ dangerous it was, how if anything had happened to her he wouldn’t be able to go on, much less her _family_ , but it’s not his place. Not yet.

“Almost there,” she murmurs, tilting her head back, her chin pressing into his back.

“Aye, lass, soon you’ll be tucked away in that beautiful big bed of yours.”

“And how do you know what my bed looks like, Hook?” She’s teasing him, the softness of her words giving her away even when she tries to mask it with sternness.

He shrugs. “I can only imagine, for now.”

“Keep imagining, buddy,” she chuckles, the laugh tickling the back of his neck again. That, mixed with her warm hands soaking into his skin makes it difficult to focus on much else.

Not much further.

She squirms a little, shifting her hips forward to press their bodies together. A brief shiver runs through her, and he reasons that’s why. But gods, it’s not enough to absolve the sensations that skitter down his spine and flood heat into his body. Her hands disappear from his body, and he nearly sighs in relief. Behind him, he can hear her rub them together vigorously, blowing on the bare skin.

His hopes are dashed when they return, ostensibly to where they had rested before, on his hips. However, in function, they are very decidedly no longer there. No, they curve over the tops of his thighs, dangerously close to where she is already affecting him, gods damn him.

She isn’t seeking comfort from him, not like that, nothing more than the simple sharing of warmth, a comfortable body to rest her head against. He likes to think it’s not unpleasant for her. But no, she isn’t trying to touch him like that, and it should _not_ be rising heat across his skin the way it is.

He nearly says her name, nearly begs her to stop, but they’re so close, and he doesn’t wish to make things awkward between them. Not now, when it seems like she is finally softening towards him, letting him into that small place she hides her heart.

The guards near this side entrance nod at them as they pass, and the horse’s hooves clatter on the cobblestone as it finds the stables on its own.

She slides off behind him, and he suddenly doesn’t know if he is grateful or not. He’ll take her however she pleases, if it’s small touches and quick smiles or something more. And for the past hour, he’s had more of her, breathed in her scent, felt her pressed against his body, so much more than anything they’ve ever shared before. Of course, there was the kiss, and the hugs, but nothing that lasted that long, that drug out until the loss of her was like a fist to the gut, a frigid wind at his back.

He is grateful, however, that she hasn’t noticed how her body affected him. Carefully, he eases off the horse, across from where she still lingers, fingers running over the dark flank of the horse.

Part of him wants to leave so she doesn’t notice, but the majority of him never wants her to leave his side.

“Thank you,” she says quietly, and walks around the front of the horse. Her gaze flickers to him as he sets about removing the tack, putting it aside before he leads the horse into its stable and returns.

“Of course,” he replies quickly, trying to stay busy, stay moving so she won’t see.

“Hey.” Her fingers brush his side, and it’s enough for him to clench his fist, slowly standing straight. She circles him, comes to stand between him and the wall. “Thank you,” she says again. Her hand presses into his chest, and she smiles, meeting his gaze. “I mean it.”

He can’t do it any more, pretending. “ _Emma_ ,” he says, and wraps his fingers around her wrist, taking a step forward. She doesn’t move an inch. “Don’t you know what you’re doing to me?”

Her breath is warm on his cheek, and suddenly her eyes are sparkling.

“I think I have an idea,” she murmurs, and flicks her eyes down his body. She takes him in, and he can’t help it, he freezes, holds his breath, waits for the inevitable awkward shuffle, the way she’ll turn away from him and go to her sparkling palace.

It never comes, and she curls her other hand around his cheek. He leans into it, and she meets his gaze.

“You know, I did a lot of thinking today. About what I’m doing here. About my parents, about Henry.” Her eyelashes flutter and a small smile blooms on her lips. “About you.”

He doesn’t know if it’s safe to breathe yet, but he does, leaning towards her, as though he can hear her better, be sure if he’s just a little closer.

“Emma,” he says again, and the word sounds almost desperate, clinging to his lips. She twists her hand in his grip until her fingers are sliding through his, tangling together until he’s not sure where she begins and he ends. Her hand on his cheek shifts, sliding against his neck until her thumb is brushing his cheek.

“Why did you come get me?” Her voice is soft, and he so desperately wants to kiss her, wants to close his eyes and lean in, noses brushing, mouths fitting together until they lose themselves in each other.

He blinks. “Your father told me you had left, that it was getting dark.” He shrugs his shoulders simply. “I didn’t want you to be alone out there, especially after nightfall.”

“Always so protective,” she murmurs, and tips her head forward until her forehead is pressing against his chin and her breathing skitters over his chest.

He says her name one last time, and she looks up as he draws their hands forward, brushing his thumb across her cheek. She flutters her eyes, and smiles, a tiny little nod the last thing he sees before he crashes down and presses their lips together.

She responds instantly, pressing her body into his and curling her hand around his neck, holding him in place. As if there is anywhere else he would rather be. Careful not to nick her with his hook, he wraps his free arm around her, pulling her even closer. He doesn’t mean to, but he stumbles forward, pressing her in front of him, until her back hits the wall and she gasps, mouth slipping open under him.

He groans, and nips at her lips, carefully brushing his tongue against her mouth. She surges under him, releasing his hand so she can grip his head, turn him where she wishes so she can kiss him. He doesn’t mind, running his hand over her side, down her ribs and waist until he finds her hip. The last time they kissed, he didn’t touch her, didn’t dare, but this time she devours him whole and he clings to her. He breathes her in, gasping and heaving, his heart racing in his chest.

It’s impossible to stamp out the hope that stirs in him, because this feels like so much more than what he expected. He doesn’t know if she will back away from him after this, but it doesn’t _feel_ like she has any intention of stopping. Still, he curls his hand around the back of her head and surges forward, pressing her into the wall with his body, hoping she feels every inch of him, every way she burns into his body and soul.

Gods, he wishes he could take her to bed right now, aches to show her how perfect she is.

Every movement of her lips stirs that passion in him, and he knows if they don’t stop, if she doesn’t stop, if he doesn’t pull away like the gentleman he tries so hard to be, he won’t _ever_ be able to stop.

Her hands are on his collar, a familiar feel as she pulls him down, clings to him and kisses him senseless.

It feels like drowning just as much as it feels like tasting sunshine.

“Emma,” he whines, finally tearing himself away. Her lips still brush against his, and he takes a deep shuddering breath. Somehow, his knee has found its way between her legs, her body pinned so deliciously against his.

“Hook,” she says, the same tone, and he doesn’t even care that she doesn’t use his name, unsure if she remembers it from that day so long ago.

“Your parents will be worried about you,” he manages to get out, because it’s true. The sun has already set, and he only sees her through the flickering of torches, but he’s already memorized the green of her eyes and the curve of her cheeks. Snow will be worried, and Charming will be silently walking the halls, waiting to see that they’ve returned.

“They can wait,” she says, breathlessly, a hint of bitterness seeping into her tone, and he wants to kiss it away. Tell her to love her family always. Instead, he hooks his arms behind her back and pulls her against him, crushing her against his chest, and she lets out a little huff.

“Still, you should reassure them that you’ve returned,” he whispers, barely a sound. She shivers, though he knows it cannot be from the cold, not with how warm and firm her body feels pressed into his.

For a long moment, she looks at him. He can see the whirring and tumbling of her mind, and stays silent as she assesses him.

“Fine,” she says finally. “But,” she leans forward, speaking to his lips, eyes flicking down to them and then back up, “only if you’re waiting for me in that _beautiful big bed_ ,” she whispers, mimicking him.

He doesn’t know to laugh or to choke, so he settles somewhere between the two.

The moment breaks, and she giggles, a sound he’s heard more today than ever before. Her body shakes slightly in his arms, squirming against him. Her eyes sparkle and it dawns on him that maybe her actions earlier had been far from accidental.

Her fingers are still twisted into his coat, and slowly, so achingly slow, he releases her, drags his hand across her lower back and then her waist, her hip. She seems to be having more problems than he is, because she refuses to move away, doesn’t even pretend to unclench her fingers.

“Emma, go.”

“Promise,” she says, and tightens her fingers, pulls him towards her. As if he would do anything but what she asks.

“Of course,” he murmurs, and kisses her again, because he can. She laughs against his lips, and it tastes delicious. “Go,” he says again, pulling away from her, and she releases him with a sigh.

“Fine. Remember your promise, then, pirate.” She slips away from him, turning back just long enough to speak and then her back is to him, disappearing across the courtyard and into the castle.

He takes a deep heaving breath, and tries to steady himself. His mind is still whirling, amazed (but not surprised) at this turn of events. Emma, bloody infuriating Emma, put her hands on his body _on purpose_ , let him kiss her senseless, and then made him promise to be waiting _in her bed_.

Bloody hell.

Slowly, he turns. He knows exactly where her suite is, has walked by it more times than he can count. Has walked her to her door before, even.

He picks his feet up and starts walking.


	2. Chapter 2

In the end, she must have just _barely_ checked in on her parents, because he beats her to her room by only a few minutes. A cursory glance around the room (and yes, the bed is as grand as he imagined), and he eases himself down on the edge of her bed, throwing his jacket over the bench at the end of the bed. There’s a fire roaring in the fireplace, and her bed is warm, cozy and inviting.

He contemplates easing his boots off, but he doesn’t want to presume, doesn’t want to assume anything.

It’s at that very moment that the door creaks open, and Emma slides through, huffing as she pushes she door shut. She turns to him, still panting, and reaches for the hem of her tunic, throwing it over her head like it’s nothing.

“You’re still wearing clothes,” she says, frowning. “I thought the whole _naked_ thing was implied.”

He can’t help it, he laughs, a sharp bark that has her grinning and closing the distance between them in a few quick moves. She doesn’t even hesitate, crawling onto his lap and kissing him.

He should have taken his boots off, he thinks dimly, and then she’s shoving him back, flatting him into the mattress with her body. She twists one hand in his hair and slides the other between them, fiddling with the clasps on his vest. He catches her fingers with his own, twists them open, and she eagerly shoves the leather aside and runs her hand under his shirt. She moans into his mouth and releases his head, instead shoving both hands across his stomach and chest, forcing his breathing to a grinding halt. Clamoring on top of him, she shoves the vest over his shoulders, and he does his best to slip out of it with her still perched on his hips. The shirt is harder, but she manages. It catches on his hook and tears with a ripping sound, but eventually comes off.

“I’ll get you a new one,” she says hurriedly, and kisses him again, sliding her hands across his bare chest.

His mind still hasn’t caught up to the moment she started stripping his clothing off, fingers slipping across her bare waist and it’s then that he realizes she is wearing only her breeches and this band around her ribs and breasts, holding them apart and up.

“Emma,” he says, trying to rise up on his elbows. “Love, Emma, wait.” She growls at him, stilling her hands on his shoulders, and slowly lets him up. He shifts his hips, trying to shuffle back further onto the bed, but it brings them together deliciously, and she moans, body wavering over him

She looks magnificent, hair tumbling down her bare shoulders as she looks down at him.

“Gods,” he mutters, and she chuckles, drawing her hands behind herself, fumbling for a moment and then the fabric covering her breasts loosens and falls down her shoulders, tossed down somewhere near his jacket.

He doesn’t have words for what he’s seeing, for her body or the way her hair brushes the tops of her breasts, nipples hard and straining as she shuffles back. A disappointed whine escapes him when she slides off of him, but it disappears when she bends over and tugs her boots off, giving him a wonderful view of her rear.

“Clothes. Gone. Now.” Her voice comes from under her hair, and he can’t exactly argue with her insistence. If he’d been uncomfortable before he is practically desperate now, pants far too tight. He leans forward, kicking out of his boots, and is rewarded with quite the view as she shimmies out of her trousers and underwear, peeling them off her legs. The urge to slip his hand forward, slide it between her thighs and against her core, feel her there, surges through him, and he curses. She glances over her shoulder at him and finally turns, completely nude and breathtakingly beautiful. His hands freeze on the laces of his pants, because this is _not_ how he had ever planned on their first time going. And he certainly hadn’t planned on _this_ , on the way he feels like his body will crack apart if he doesn’t get to touch her, doesn’t get to feel her.

Her hands close over his, and he hisses, breaking out of his revere as the warmth of her hands hits him. She makes remarkably short work of his pants, pushing them down his hips, and that’s when he decides to take control of the situation. He reaches for her hands, pulling them away at the same time that he surges up, kissing her hard and pressing into her enough to make her stumble back. Looping his left arm around her waist, he spins them, and this time pushes her into the bed, bending her back over it. She moans, and bucks her hips up, lifting her legs and throwing them over his hips.

He nearly doesn’t know what to touch first, so he does his best to rake his fingers across every inch of her skin, starting with the thigh that’s wrapped around him. She shivers and moans, pulling him closer, wrapping her arms around his shoulders until he feels like he’s crushing her.  She kisses him back desperately, rolling her body with her lips, rubbing against him like a cat. Abruptly, he shifts gears, kissing her neck and shoulder, wet and hot and desperate, because this isn’t going to last very long if she keeps moving like that, and gods, he wants to make it last for her. Would make it last all night if only she wasn’t so damn _eager_.

“Hook,” she whines.

Part of him doesn’t want to correct her, wouldn’t mind hearing her gasp out his title, but she wants _him_ , not Captain Hook, so he raises his lips just long enough to mutter, “Killian, love.”

“Killian,” she corrects, and digs her fingers into his back. He groans and pauses at her breasts, palming one, thumbing at the nipple before he presses his mouth over it, a long swipe of his tongue bringing her back up off the bed, legs tightening around him. “Fuck,” she huffs, and then laughs, slightly hysterical.

His lips get half-way down her stomach when she twists her fingers in his hair and pulls him back up to her lips, kissing him hard, lips bruising with the passion of it.

“Later,” she murmurs, and scoots herself further back in the bed, releasing him as she rolls over and crawls the rest of the way to the center.

“Gods, Emma, you’re not making this easy,” he mutters, but kicks his pants off and eases himself into the bed, advancing on her as she giggles.

“You could say it’s rather hard, couldn’t you?” Her eyes flicker down between his legs, and she may be laughing, but he’s seen that raw hunger a thousand times before, and he’ll see it another thousand times from her if it’s the last thing he does.

“Joke all you like, love,” he growls, and pins her arm with his own, hovering over her, brushing his lips over her chest, “but I do believe you’re the one who just tried to seduce _me_.” He slips a thigh between her legs, and rocks his hips into hers.

“I like that,” she gasps, and curls her free hand around the back of his neck, grinding down on his leg. “I _seduced_ you.”

“You did,” he mutters into her skin. “Can’t keep your _hands_ to _yourself_.” He curls his fingers around her wrist, and she tilts her chin up.

“Are you gonna talk me to death?”

The second half of the question remains unspoken, but he smirks anyway.

“Maybe.”

She makes a frustrated sound, and bucks her hips, yanking his lips up to hers again. He finds it easy to lose himself in her like this, until he loses his breath and his soul, both of which were already hers anyways.

His fingers loosen around her wrist, move down her ribs and waist. He moans into her mouth, and he lets go, flattens his hand across her stomach and slips it lower

She makes a small sound when he brushes his fingers between her legs, barely touching her hot skin.

That’s when she moves, wrenching herself under him and rolling over, pushing him down under her. She grins and runs her hands down his chest and stomach, rocking her hips over him teasingly. Settling over him, she digs a hand into his hair and leans down, rubbing their bodies together as she kisses him.

It’s too much and not enough all at once.

“Emma,” he whines when she breaks away, and she tightens her fingers in his hair, tugs just a little harder. “I swore I would take my time with you the first time. I swore it, love.”

She smirks, and shuffles back on her knees.

“I guess you shouldn’t swear so much, then,” she murmurs, and slips her hand between them, closing it around his cock.

He jerks, letting out a wordless cry as she starts to move, sliding her hand up and down him slowly. It feels amazing, overloading his senses until he can hardly breathe.

Of course, she chooses that moment to lift her hips and move forward, sliding herself over his cock. He brushes her entrance, so wet and hot, and she rocks her hips, dragging them together over and over again.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hisses, and she stills herself over him, gently rocking down just enough to slip the tip of him inside her. He goes stiff, freezes, because bloody fucking _hell._ She’s so wet, so tight, gripping him like a vice. She slowly rocks her hips down, taking him inside her inch by delicious slick inch, moaning wickedly as she does. If he were even remotely aware of what’s happening, he would be ashamed of the sounds he’s making, but all he can focus on is the feel of her body, the open-mouthed expression of pleasure that covers her face.

“Killian,” she whimpers, gasping as she eases herself up slightly and then finally lowers herself all the way, pressing their hips together. “Oh, god,” she says, shifting her hips deliciously. “You feel, _fuck_ , you feel so good,” she gasps out, voice thready and high. He can barely breathe, the feel of her, and does his best instead to plant his hand on her hip, belatedly realizing he hasn’t taken his hook off as she shivers when the cold metal touches her skin. She reaches for the steel appendage, and at first he thinks she’s going to twist it off, but she does something else entirely, dragging the curve up her waist and over her breast, shuddering and fluttering around him violently when she presses it over her nipple, hips shaking.

She does that, dragging it across her skin, shivering every so often, until the metal is warm, and then she starts to move, raising her hips and then lowering them in a soft rocking motion.

The movement makes him gasps, a sharp groan escaping him, and she grins, presses her hands harder against chest and picks up speed. Her breasts sway invitingly and so he shifts his hand up from her waist to cup one, squeezing gently at first and then a little rougher when she moans and whimpers. He uses it as an anchor, rolling his thumb across the skin every time she moves, his hook planted firmly on her hip.

Damn him, but she is a sight. Her lip between her teeth, invitingly red and swollen from his kisses, her hips bouncing on his as her breasts swan and her hair shifts, golden curls brushing her shoulders. Every inch of her body moving to bring them both pleasure, and he can’t handle that, knowing this gorgeous woman, _his_ perfect woman, everything he loves, is driving herself down on his cock like it’s the greatest thing she’s ever experienced, head thrown back and swaying with every move.

He shifts, bringing his feet up under himself, drawing his knees to her back, and she gasps at the new angle, movements faltering as he starts to rock himself into her. Her hands change, from bracing to clinging, and her body slowly starts to fall against his as his thrusts pick up pace.

“ _Christ_ ,” she moans, and though he’s not familiar with the word, he assumes from her tone that it’s a curse, and it only spurs him on, sliding his hand down to her hips to hold her in place as he thrusts harder and faster. Both of them dissolve into small cries, every movement burning sweet pleasure.

“Fuck, Emma, feel so good,” he slurs, and she makes a small sound against his chest, her head tucked up under his neck. “So good,” he mumbles, wishes he could describe every little thing that she is doing to him, but this is all he can manage. He’s embarrassingly close, enough that he knows slowing down, shifting position, would do him no good.

She lifts herself off of his chest, bracing her body with one shaking arm, hips jerking with his every thrust, and lowers her hand between her legs, pressing harshly into her clit. He can feel the results almost instantly, her body fluttering and clenching around him. Her head drops, hair tickling his chest, and her arm shudders even harder over his shoulder as her breathing starts to come even harder.

He braces himself one last time, gripping her hip as hard as he can, and thrusts up, up, until their hips slam together and she slides up, knees nearly leaving the mattress with every move. She cries out, loud and desperate as he repeats the move, once, twice, and he _certainly_ doesn’t feel a rush of desire, of possessiveness to know _he_ caused that.

All of a sudden, she comes, her body thrumming and then tightening impossibly. She stills, nails digging into his shoulder and chest as she gasps out his name. Her thighs clamp down on him tightly as her body pins him down, slowing his thrusts until he’s really just rocking into her, riding out her release. Slowly, she uncurls her hands, smoothes them across his skin and smiles, shaky but heart-shatteringly genuine.

Easing herself forward onto her elbows, she leans down and kisses him, lazy passion that ignites him and sets his body to moving again. He cups the side of her face and forces the curve of her hip down to meet his thrusts with his hook. She gasps, but it’s a content pleasured sound, and she nips at his lip, mouth curving up when he groans. Desperately, he blinks, tries to keep his eyes open, to watch her half-lidded and utterly sated eyes flicker across his face, watch the way her bottom lip wobbles with every thrust of his hips.

Growling, he surges forward, capturing that lip between his teeth, worrying it softly and sucking it into his mouth. She moans and he slides his hand down her cheek, her neck and then shoulder. Pausing only briefly at her breast, he continues down her waist until he reaches her hip. Her body limp against him, he clings tightly to her and rolls, managing to stay inside of her through the whole thing. She exhales so prettily, eyes fluttering up at him and he gives in, losing himself in her slick body. Her hips rock invitingly against his as his thrusts grow harder and faster, legs splaying open and shaking with every move.

“Fuck,” she whispers, the vulgarity harsh and soft at the same time.

“Emma,” he says in reply, and kisses her hard, lips and teeth and tongues meeting roughly as he finds that sweet spot, the perfect angle inside of her. He dimly registers the sharp bite of something into his back.

Gods, she’s _perfect_ , tight and so wet he would be slipping out if he dared to leave her hot grasp. It’s all he can think of, really, glancing down between them, watching the way their hips meet almost violently.

The bed bounces gently, and it’s an innocuous detail that he notices last, the covers tangled under them as her fireplace crackles happily. He feels her teeth on his neck, sharp and then soft, and comes with a shout.

It feels like he’s exploding, coming apart at the seams as he digs his fingers into her skin, surely uncomfortable, but she says nothing, wriggles up against him and drags his body down against her. He says her name, over and over until he forgets the words, knows only the meaning.

_Emma_.

He comes back to himself slowly, warm and so incredibly happy, filled with a deep satisfaction. Someone is running their fingers through his hair, making soft shushing sounds.

Emma. His Emma.

Realization hits him hard, and he tries to ease up on his elbows, to roll off of her and ease her discomfort, but her arms tighten around him.

“Stay,” she whispers in his ear, voice soft and sleepy.

He stays.


End file.
